


Over Tapu Cocoa

by agaseus



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Development, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Game(s), Reader Is Not the Game Protag, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaseus/pseuds/agaseus
Summary: You’d never known that it was his favorite drink. You’d also never known he remembered you from the second he saw you standing behind that café counter.





	1. Cup 1 – Route 8

**Author's Note:**

> Guzma is by far one of my top favorite characters in Pokémon games, so I'd thought I'd just write him something. Not sure where I'm going with this... It was just an idea I had in the middle of the annoyingness that my college apps are.

            It’s good to be back home.

            With the last of your dishes done after breakfast, you make sure everything is tidy in your little home. Books where they need to be, old clothes from yesterday tucked into a hamper. Slinging your bag over one shoulder, you turn around to lock your apartment’s door, and then you smile. The warm Alolan breeze brushes against your face as you stand on the hallway balcony for a moment and look at the town below. You stretch towards the sky and let out a quiet, satisfied sigh when, with a tiny pop, a crick smooths itself out in your back. Deciding it’s time to get going, you make your way down the stairs to the main cobblestone streets below, lining the shopping district of Malie City.

            The Poké Ball attached to your belt shifts back and forth in its clip, and you smile as you pluck it from its place.

            “Aren’t you full of energy today?” you laugh as you release your cherished Vikavolt, the soft humming of her wings now filling the air around you.

            She snaps her mandibles in what you’d say is agreement before she decides that she’ll rest on her favorite perch—the top of your head. Her sudden seating makes you hunch over and chuckle.

            “Aw, come on, Vikavolt, you know that you’re a bit too heavy for—” The protest doesn’t even make it fully past your lips before your Pokémon is chittering out a reply in a series of annoyed clicks and offended buzzes. Obviously feeling quite affronted, she flits away from you before she turns her backside to your face so that you have quite the flattering view of her behind.

            Another giggle escapes you. “Dramatic bug. You know I love you.”

            Pulling a Rainbow Poké Bean from your pocket, you send it flying over Vikavolt’s head with a flick of your fingers and watch as she snaps it from above without any troubles. That appears to quell her sassy attitude, and now seemingly content, she bounces excitedly in the air before returning to your side.

            It’s a relatively quiet morning, with only a few people out on the streets and shops just beginning to open up. After all, the clock has barely struck nine, and that’s when most of Malie begins to really awaken, is what you’ve learned. You’d imagine there’d be a throng of tourists walking through at some point during the day, but fortunately for you, you’d be on top of a mountain when that happened. You hope that the Hokulani Observatory won’t have many visitors today. Typically, you, the young Electric captain, and his cousin already struggle to focus on work, what with the latter two opting to play video games and you eventually giving in. Sightseers would only add to the distractions. It isn’t that you have a _big_ problem with people, really; it’s just that you can’t stand being in large crowds or surrounded by others. You feel stifled, and it makes you uncomfortable. And well, sometimes, tourists get a little out of hand. People in general can get out of hand, and then it’s easy to annoy you.

            You’ve been back in Alola for almost a month now, and you’re still readjusting to the life you’d had before you had left. For the past year and a half, you’d been in Hoenn. Your trip to the distant region had started as a three-month internship at the Mossdeep Space Center after you’d completed a four-year study at the University of Alola at Akala dealing with astrophysics among other subjects like cosmology. Your professor at the university had encouraged you and the few other students in your class to find places to intern at, and you’d decided on Hoenn. The Mossdeep Space Center, a famous location for its rocket launches, the studying of comets and asteroids, and latest technology, had easily captivated you. Luck had been on your side when you’d been accepted there, and even after you’d completed your internship, you had been invited to stay as a budding researcher who’d be helping and studying at the Center.

            It hadn’t been easy to leave, though, when you had to. You’d made some new friends, caught new Pokémon, and had felt more in charge of your life than you had before. But the pull to return to Alola had eventually won out, and you’d ended up on Ula’ula Island at the Hokulani Observatory when you’d gotten back home. There had been a job posting, with all the new activity going on involving things you’d heard were called “Ultra Beasts” and “Ultra Wormholes,” and you thought it would be an interesting research topic. You are a person who loves to learn more, anyway.

            Molayne’s presence at the Observatory had surprised you. You hadn’t known he had been working there; it had come as a shock to the both of you that you’d remembered one another. He had graduated a year ahead of you in university, but you recalled sharing a couple classes with him every now and then. At first, you’d been a little skeptical about adjusting to all the new things at Hokulani, but you’d settled in rather well, supported by welcoming people who were curious about Hoenn’s space technology and your capabilities.

            Maybe you’d settled in a bit _too_ well, since you, your former classmate, and Sophocles end up goofing around more than you’d expected. But it isn’t like you’re a slacker. You pull through whenever you have to, and you know that you’re helping with critical information that the Dimensional Research Lab in Heahea needs.  

            Vikavolt nudges your arm to get your attention, and you notice that she’s pointing her pincers towards your bag. It’s then that you realize something in your bag is vibrating, and you pull out your phone.

            “Hello?”

            It’s your grandfather.

            “[Name]! I hope you’re doing well?”

            You nod, and then realizing he can’t see you, you say, “Mmhmm. I’m doing okay. How’re you doing?”

            “Haha, not quite as well as you, I’m afraid. I sprained my ankle this morning. Slipped on something in the kitchen and nearly broke my back too,” he laughs across the line, even though you feel like this isn’t something he should take so light-heartedly.

            “Are you all right?!” You can’t contain the concern in your voice.

            He laughs again. “Oh, don’t you worry. I’m all right. I just need some bed rest for a few weeks to let it heal. But unfortunately, that means I won’t be able to work at the Pokémon Center Café off Route 8 like I normally do.”

            Your grandfather had been working at the café after retiring from his job at Paniola Ranch. He found it enjoyable—to help people relax at the Pokémon Center and perhaps hear stories of their adventures.

            “So, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind filling in for me for the next two weeks? I wouldn’t want to bother your grandmother, knowing how she’s always handling the motel nearby. But I do understand how busy you are with your own research, so I don’t want to inconvenience you either.”

            You answer before you really think about everything, “Yeah, sure, don’t worry grandpa. It’s no problem, I can take over. I’ll let Molayne know. It should be fine for me to work out of the lab for a while, since there’s a lot of data sorting and stuff that needs to be done that I can do by myself anyway.”

            “Thank you, my dear.”

            He proceeds to detail what you have to do at the café, which really isn’t more than what you’d thought it’d be. You’re just going to be making drinks for customers, basically for all weekdays—from ten to midnight. Of course, you’d get breaks whenever you wanted, but that meant you wouldn’t have much time for yourself, really. After getting off the phone with your grandfather, you call Molayne and inform him of your situation. He doesn’t mind at all, even telling you that you should make sure you get some rest, that he and Sophocles and the other workers will take care of the lab, and that maybe he’ll stop by to grab a cup of Roserade Tea some time.

            It’s good that you have all your working materials—notebooks, binder, laptop, charts, pencils, among other things—in your bag right now, so you don’t have to turn around and go home. Recalling Vikavolt into her Poké Ball, you rustle through your belongings for your Ride Pager and signal a Charizard to your location. The Fire-Flying type reaches you in less than five minutes, and you’re soon on your way to Akala Island.

            The flight to Route 8 shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes since you’re simply cutting a straight path over water to the other island. The air is fresh, and it’s pretty relaxing, as long as you don’t look down and think about what it’d be like if you’d just plummeted into the pearly blue waters below.

            When you arrive at the Pokémon Center on Route 8, you thank the Charizard you’d just flown on by giving him some Poké Beans. He finishes them in a few bites and then nuzzles you with his snout before taking off. Once he’s out of sight, you head into the Center and decide that you’d better get that café apron on.

            Fortunately, Nurse Joy only waves to you and smiles, and you suppose that your grandfather had already phoned in to let her know that you’d be taking his place for the next two weeks. You face no trouble in setting up the café, your grandfather’s instructions and your common sense being more than sufficient for you to get ready.

            The day goes by rather slowly, with patrons meandering in and out of the Pokémon Center at their own leisurely pace. Some of them stop for a drink at the café, and you’re prompted to lift your head from your work, put on a smile, and snap to your barista job. There are some children on their Island Challenge who pass through, ordering some Pinap Juice to-go and happily feeding their Pokémon the free Beans you’re obligated to provide. It makes your heart hurt a little, when you think about the Trials you’d gone through and how you’d felt at the end of your journey. At least you’ve still got your team with you now. A couple elders sit down for an hour and just chat idly, somewhat distracting you from your work of sorting files, but also bringing you some kind of comfort. They ask you a couple questions since you’re not the normal old man whom they’ve known for a long time, and you have to tell them that he’s your grandfather, he’s a bit injured—no, he’s all right, just in need of some rest—and that he’ll be back soon.

            They laugh and admit to you that it’s nice to see a pretty face around.

            Another one glances at your work, and recognizing a few of things that you’re doing, she lights up. She goes off on a tangent about how she’d always wanted to study outer space and everything about it, and that it’s very interesting, and you’re such a blessed young lady to be able to study what you want. There’s a hidden story behind her words that clearly itches to be told, but no one presses her to reveal what exactly she means.

            After they depart, you only have a couple more customers until evening rolls around, and you take a break for your dinner. Chewing through some bread and an assortment of vegetables, you pencil in some time stamps on the chart in front of you, recording the various sightings of the comet you’ve been tracking with Sophocles. The minutes continue to tick by, and you’re alternating between reading through Molayne’s notes about the newest telescope they’ve gotten installed at the Observatory and all its features and adding your own annotations. It’s quite astounding—the number of functions it can perform—and you’re pretty sure it’s on par with Mossdeep’s equipment, if not better, in some regards. Thankfully for you, no one really comes by for a drink while you’re lost in the mess of papers spread out on the counter, more of it layered with white sheets than uncovered. You do stop a couple times for restroom breaks, though they’re short and then you’re back to work on sifting through data. You’re unaware that Nurse Joy looks over to you on a few occasions while you’re muttering about some incorrect numbers and interstellar mediums, but she never nears you. She figures you’re in too deep.

            Night seeps through the windows of the Pokémon Center, and you finally comprehend that it’s pretty late. It’s almost eleven-ten, so you’ve been at this work for quite a while. You’re surprised that, still, you’ve had no customers in the past two hours, but then again, maybe you’d scared them off with your beyond serious resting face… People had told you before that you looked _pissed_ when you weren’t even doing anything. Too bad for them—and yourself, you supposed, if no one would approach you—that that’s just how your resting face is.

            You think that you’d organize your papers and files at least, so you’d be ready to leave at midnight. You’re halfway through gathering everything when you hear the doors to the Pokémon Center whir open, and strangely, you feel like you should look up to see who’s walking through.

            He has a shock of tousled white hair that hides a black undercut, and he sports a pair of large-lensed yellow sunglasses atop his head, his gray eyes seemingly bored with the world around him. You note that there’s a bit of a shade of purple—or is it gray also?—around his eyes that tells you he’s wearing makeup. A black, short-sleeved hoodie with white zig-zags thrown on top of a loose, white t-shirt and matching baggy, black pants make up his attire. On his feet are a pair of white high tops.

            Something about his unhurried, casual gait sets off a series of questions in your mind. It’s like you _know_ this person, somehow, but you can’t quite piece your memories together to form a coherent train of thought.            

            He stops at the counter and tucks his hands into his pockets, and then his gaze lands on you. A smirk forms on his face, and you curse yourself; clearly, you’d been staring without meaning to, and he’d seen you. You could be _really_ out of it sometimes.

            The man leans forward expectantly, eyes half-lidded, elbows resting on the shiny wooden surface, chin propped up. You think that he’s going to tell you his order, but instead you get,

            “What, you interested?”

            It takes you a good couple seconds to recoil slightly, blink in utter surprise, and then just stand there in silence. It takes you another few seconds to register what he means and what he’s doing—that he’s flirting with you—and you don’t know how to respond. Or, at least respond eloquently.

            “I—um— _what_?”

            You know you look absolutely ridiculous right now, but you can’t help it. No one’s ever flirted with you before as your friends would always get the attention or you’d be too busy studying or training or working to really bother with the capriciousness of romance.

            “I asked if you were interested in me or somethin’,” replies the stranger, now staring at you as if you’re the most amusing person he’s come across before.

            It makes you kind of uncomfortable, but for some reason, it helps you remember _something_ , that perhaps this person isn’t such a stranger after all. However, you still can’t figure out _who_ he is.

            You start hesitantly, unsure that you might possibly know him from somewhere, “It’s just—I’m not sure—” 

            “Not sure if I’m the hottest guy you’ve ever seen before?”

            He lifts his eyebrows at you, and you unintentionally slap your hands against the countertop as you shake your head. You’re not about to admit to yourself that he is somewhat attractive, because that isn’t the point right now.

            “N-no! Ugh, just—what’s your order?!” you snap, nonplussed and done with trying to figure out who he is at the moment.

            Instantly, he lets out a sharp peal of laughter and then tells you, “A Tapu Cocoa.”

            You hope he’s being serious.

            Eyeing him with what you hope looks like your most indignant expression, you snag a mug from the rack beside you and move away from the stacks of papers and books near your laptop. You force your voice to sound even and amiable when you speak up again, “That’s one hundred and ninety-eight Poké dollars, please.”

            “Aight.”

            You assume that he’s placed his money on the counter, and you work on getting his cup of Tapu Cocoa. Thankfully, you’d made a fresh pot not too long ago, and it’s still pretty hot. You let it heat up a bit more on the stove and then you pour some into the mug you’d grabbed earlier. Turning back to him with the best smile you can muster at the moment, which isn’t that impressive considering it’s late at night and this man is pushing your patience, you almost slam the mug in front of him.

            “Damn, princess, no needa get so worked up,” he chuckles, reaching out with one of his hands to grasp the drink.

            You snort. You make no effort to try and stop it.

            That gets him to laugh again, and you’re glad that you’re facing away from him as you punch a couple numbers into the cashier and deposit the two bills he’d laid on the counter. Hoping that your face isn’t still pink with embarrassment, you drop two coins beside his cup and then ask, “Want any whipped cream? Or marshmallows with that?”

            “Guess I could go for the marshmallows.”

            He reaches out and takes a handful of the sweets from the bag you’d set out on the counter, and he plops a few into his cup. They’re an assortment of black and white marshmallows, some shaped like the head of the mythical Marshadow while the others are round like Jigglypuff. It’s quite the contrast—a man of over six feet holding some small fluffy candies in his hand. You stop yourself from laughing.

            “Oh, I almost forgot,” you remark, reaching behind you and using a napkin to pick up a biscuit in a covered tray.

            Of course, the cookie for today had to be _this_ one… You curse in your head.

            He peers at you inquisitively as you hand him the folded napkin. “It’s called a Sweet Heart. They’re famous in the Unova Region.”

            “Hey, I’ve heard of these things,” the man says, his eyes locking with yours as the smirk from before returns to his face now. “Aren’t they the shit people exchange in Unova if they’re lovers?”

            How the hell this guy knows about that, you don’t know, but it couldn’t make it more awkward for you. Just on top of the flirting that he’s already done…

            “Um, I don’t know?” you answer incredulously, shrugging your shoulders and trying to be nonchalant. However, your patience is very clearly running out, and you’re starting to drop your formalities all together. “Look, man, that’s just the cookie of the day. It’s Sunday’s, all right?”

            He just laughs at you. Again. The audacity of this guy!

            “You _really_ are something, ain’t ya, babe?”

            You’re just about ready to explode. You’re not sure whether it’s from pure mortification or the unfamiliarity of someone hitting on you or the fact that you’re just way too tired for _anything_ anymore, but you somehow manage to keep yourself in check. Your grandfather definitely wouldn’t appreciate your screwing up your first day on the job and possibly chasing off a potential, regular customer. Tempted to withhold the other free complementary gift every customer receives with the first daily drink they purchase, you think better of it and neglect responding to him to pull a tiny, plastic gift bag from beneath the counter. It’s tied with a golden, metallic twist, and a collection of variously colored Minior decorate its exterior.

            You set the bag in front of him and comment, “You’re entitled to free Poké Beans when you buy your first drink of the day, so here.”

            You’re surprised that this time, he just tells you thanks and pockets the bag. You’d expected him to have some other teasing reply for you, but he doesn’t.

            Satisfied that you’d taken care of your customer—no matter how obnoxious he had been—you seat yourself near your papers and start clacking away at your laptop’s keys. You’ve given up on packing stuff into your bag, for now. There’s a lot of information here that you’re trying to put together in a viable portfolio so that it makes sense for those scientists from the Dimensional Lab wanting to check in next week. Unbeknownst to you, as you file away possible comet projection plans and create a couple more graphs, your customer watches you with a curious look. What are you doing, anyway?

            He sips the last of his drink and sets his mug back down on the counter. You notice that he’s finished and look up, and you see his signature smug expression set on his face. “Guess I’ll see ya ‘round. Your Tapu Cocoa ain’t bad.”

            Offering you a two-fingered wave, he hops off his stool and saunters towards the Pokémon Center’s exit.

            You don’t say anything as he walks further and further away. It’s because you’re not really sure what to say.

            As his figure disappears, the doors sliding shut behind him, you mull over what he said. That he’d “see ya ‘round.”

            Well, you sure hope he doesn’t come back.


	2. Cup 2 – Route 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your second meeting doesn't go quite as you'd planned.

            “Excuse me.”

            You’re stopped before you walk out the Pokémon Center by Nurse Joy’s calling to you. You assume that she’s talking to you because you don’t see anyone else nearby whom she could be addressing. Turning on your heels, you glance back at her and raise a brow. “Um, yes?”

            The pink-haired woman beckons you over, her eyes surveying the building apprehensively. She motions you to hunch near her when you reach her, and she raises her hands around her mouth as she whispers to you, “You’d better watch out for that guy. I’m sure you know who he is, right?”

            “I don’t think so?” you murmur in return, confusion settling on your face as you shake your head.

            “That’s surprising…” Nurse Joy leans back when she sees that there’s no one else in the main lobby of the Center and that she can speak in a normal tone now. “Not a lot of locals _don’t_ know about him—I mean—Guzma.”

            The moment she says his name, it seems like a hundred different lightbulbs and bells are flicking on and going off in your mind, and you snap your fingers, which startles the nurse. You can finally put a name to a face! A rush of memories begins coming back to you: There’s a persistent kid with a Wimpod who won’t leave you alone whenever you cross paths, obnoxious laughter, dry insults, and another boy beside the first who’s got a Rockruff by his side. Everything starts to make more sense now, and your discovery practically causes you to forget that you’re still standing in front of Nurse Joy, a pensive look on your face which seems to momentarily worry her.

            “Miss? Are you all right?” She scrunches her brows together in concern.

            “Ah! Yeah! I’m okay,” you reassure her, nodding your head. You wave your hands in front of you to emphasize that nothing’s wrong, and you smile. When she laughs—commenting that getting lost in her thoughts is something she’s definitely guilty of sometimes—you do so along with her. You silently thank the Tapu that she’s not going to pursue the reason behind your unpredicted, spacey attitude. It doesn’t feel right to tell her that you _actually_ know who Guzma is.

            That he’d been a childhood rival of yours.

            Waving goodbye to Nurse Joy, you wish her a good night, to which she asks if you’ll be safe by yourself on your journey home. You halfheartedly tell her that you’d be fine since you had your Pokémon, your mind still trying to comprehend that you know the guy who had just been flirting with you ceaselessly. It couldn’t be. But at the same time… Yeah, it totally could be. The fact that you’d encountered the _same_ Guzma as the one you’d known all those years ago seems arguably unrealistic, but you somehow manage to accept the thought. He looks so different, with the white hair and style of dress, that it’s so obvious that you wouldn’t recognize him. The only thing that’d remained the same about him is how insufferable he can be.

            But who are you kidding anyway? You absently paw around in your bag for your Ride Pager and click the button for a Charizard upon finding it. You’d barely known him before, so why are you acting like this is some kind of big revelation? You tuck the device back into your satchel. He had just been one of your childhood rivals. Though, you admit he’d probably been the most notable, really, since he’d constantly challenge you to battles whenever he saw you. That’s it, however. You wrap your arms around yourself a bit tighter, the cool breeze buffeting you as you shift from foot to foot. Besides just Pokémon battling, he and you had often exchanged snarky asides instead of having decent conversations. Subconsciously, you frown. There _had_ been a mutual sense of silent respect between you two, despite neither of you ever conveying any words or actions of such to one another, both of your caustic remarks revealing quite the opposite. You’d never known much more about him besides the fact that he annoyed you, you annoyed him, and you both wanted to prove who the better Trainer was. And that’s all it ever was. You’d finished your Island Challenge and hadn’t seen him again throughout the years you’d been studying. Until now.

            Deadpanning, you realize you hadn’t asked Nurse Joy _why_ Guzma is someone you should be wary of. That leaves you to do more research on top of the research you already have to do for your job, and you’re not really looking forward to it. If your curiosity nags at you more than your tiredness does today, then you suppose you’ll look up who this _Guzma_ really is. Or whatever his hidden agenda might have been, or still is. Otherwise, you’re too busy for that.

            You deliberate all this and more while you’re flying home, the Charizard who’s carrying you glancing back at you from time to time to make sure you’re paying attention enough to not fall off. When you make it to your apartment without any mishaps, you thank the Pokémon with some Beans and head inside once she disappears. Shutting the door behind you, you move through the motions of your routine of getting ready for bed, your mind still spinning with thoughts. It’s on these kinds of nights that you’re up, rolling back and forth among your blankets, while considering seemingly useless things.

            The phone in your hand tells you it’s almost one in the morning, and you sigh before frowning. You _know_ when you can’t fall asleep, and you decide that perhaps now is the time you can see if there’s anything online about Guzma to figure out what Nurse Joy had been hinting at earlier.

            You’re not really sure what to look up, and you limply hold your phone above your head as you blankly stare at it.

            You end up just punching in his name as a search topic, and in a fraction of a second, you’re greeted with a pile of results.

            “A Look at Team Skull’s Leader **Guzma** , Reformed”

            “‘Big Bad **Guzma** ’ No Longer So Big and Bad?”

            “Team Skull’s Disbandment, **Guzma** , and Legal Prosecutions”

            His name is bolded so many times across your tiny phone screen that you’re surprised. Scrolling quickly to the bottom of the first page of results and then flipping to the next one, you’re a bit disheartened to find that the titles only seem to indicate that there had been a lot more going on with Guzma than you’d first expected. But, what had you expected? You’re not sure. You do know a bit about Team Skull. The gang had formed when you had just begun studying in university, but its leader had remained a mystery to the public for its first few years of existence. To think that Guzma had been its leader, though…

            You stop flipping around on the search pages and just lie in bed, still and thinking once again.

            _Smack!_

            “Aw, _Arceus_! Dammit, that hurt…”

            Rubbing at your forehead where one of the corners of your phone had just crashed against, you curse yourself and pick the device off your face. You’ve got a habit of doing that, especially when you’re getting comfortable in bed, your arm is getting a bit sore from holding up your phone all the time, and you’re thinking a bit too much. You _are_ thinking a bit too much about this all, but you can’t help it.

            What exactly had he been up to for all the years that you hadn’t seen him?

            You click the first article.

            You’re about to find out.

 

* * *

 

             Holding up the back of your hand to your mouth, you try to hide your rather uncouth and grumpy yawn. You had completely derailed from your plan of sleeping after just a few minutes of searching up Guzma, and you’d spent almost an hour reading articles that explained what he’d done as Team Skull’s boss, and more. It had somewhat shocked you that Guzma—the annoying childhood rival of yours—had actually formed _a gang_ , and you’d been so out of things that you hadn’t really paid it much mind. He’s the one who’d been in charge of a group of outcast teenagers who’d gone around stealing people’s Pokémon. That sickens you, no doubt, but it also makes you wonder if that reveals to you anything about Guzma’s own past. You’d only been reading from the public’s perspective, after all.

            You shake your head and walk into the Pokémon Center. At least the most recent articles seem to suggest that things are going better for Alola and Guzma… That’s what you’re hoping. Word is that for a few months, Guzma has been training with Melemele’s kahuna, Hala, and still is, so perhaps things really are smoothing out somehow.

            Well, you don’t have time to dawdle right now. You have your own research you need to finish and Pokémon to take care of and customers probably to attend to when you get the café open and—

            You sigh as you lazily wave at Nurse Joy at her station and head over to your own. Just as you finish tying the apron around your waist, you see the nurse walking towards your little corner, and you blink at her curiously. “What’s up?”

            “Oh, I’m so scatterbrained sometimes! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you yesterday why you have to watch out for Guzma!” She almost slaps a hand to her forehead, but she stops and apologizes to you before scolding herself again.

            “It’s all right,” you laugh nervously, “since I looked up some stuff on my own yesterday.”

            “You did?” Nurse Joy queries, remembering to keep her voice down so that the others in the center don’t overhear your conversation. “All right. Well, I know that he’s done with Team Skull and all, but you should still be careful. No one’s quite fond of him and his habits.”

            You wonder what she could mean by “his habits,” but you neglect asking her anything, somehow suddenly getting the feeling of wanting her to leave you alone. Straining a smile onto your face, you offer her some comforting—or, at least you think they are—words, “I think I’ll be fine. I’ve got my Pokémon with me.”

            “I’d expect you are quite the capable Trainer, but that’s not all I’m saying that you should be careful about,” she replies, eyes narrowing. “Everyone needs to keep their guard up when he’s around.”

            “Noted, thanks,” you say shortly, in your mind willing her to go away. Although you know she’s just trying to be nice and look out for you as she probably would for other civilians, you feel kind of disconcerted. You understand that Guzma hasn’t done pretty things, and justifiably, many Alolans act unforgivingly towards him. However, the fact that Guzma is apparently trying to change should at least count for _something_ , right? You aren’t completely sure. He hadn’t been that great of a person, from what it seems. He had annoyed you a lot when you’d been rivals. But this isn’t your issue to be dealing with now, is it?

            That’s what you would like to try and convince yourself of, but you don’t think it’s quite true.

            You just know it’s not.

            Nurse Joy leaves you alone, and you start setting up the café and your work. The second that you flip the sign on the counter to “open,” a few customers line up in front of you. It seems they’d been waiting for you to arrive, but at least they’re all in rather chipper moods. You’re not certain you would be able to deal with nasty patrons, especially when you have your work to do.

            “Bye! Have a nice day!”

            After the last customer leaves, you shuffle through your papers and spread them out in an organized fashion over the counter. There are specific charts lined side-by-side, and some joint notes from Molayne and Sophocles about the latest electricity-generating device the latter has been attempting to improve. It’s supposed to be shaped like a Vikavolt, and in the side margins of the paper, you read, “(: Just like yours, [Name]!”

            You laugh.

            Sophocles is a pure kid.

            It had actually taken a while for Sophocles to accept you, or at least, talk to you, really. You hadn’t minded; you understood that he still had been a bit shy, and you’d given him his space. However, bonding over your enthusiasm for technology, outer space, Pokémon, and—most importantly—video games, the two of you had started to get along pretty well.

            He’s smart too, and you’re usually surprised by the kind of analyses he comes up with, especially in the technology department. The kid’s always experimenting with different gadgets and circuits that it’s pretty inspiring, even if his latest developments sometimes end up malfunctioning on a possibly grand scale. He’s trying to progress with precautions too, though; you’d only gone through two near electrical discharges at your workplace.

            You flip through a few files you set on your lap as you attempt to locate the documents you have on the recently updated CCD camera in the Observatory’s telescope. Once you find them, you make yourself a cup of Pecha Berry juice and then settle down. Bouncing between your research and café duties becomes a little more than tiring, as it breaks your concentration more than once while you’re attempting to do some complicated math.

            Loaded with work, you’ve kind of forgotten about Guzma already; sometimes, you do wonder about him, but it’s often a fleeting thought that doesn’t lead you to contemplate his whereabouts and anything else. Your routine becomes more and more tiring as the days start to pass, and you don’t really have time to think about him. First one, then two, then three days, and you’re growing a bit sick of your new schedule. Nothing in particular ever happens that would be interesting. Sure, your research is nice and all, but without any equipment from Hokulani Observatory, you’re getting exhausted of staring at numbers and lines and small text. And then there’s keeping up a polite attitude when you have customers. The two don’t make a good mix, and your tolerance of everything is about to go extinct.

            Guzma’s appearance on the third day since he’d first visited doesn’t seem to make your mood any better.

            “Hey darlin’, a Tapu Cacoa,” he greets, resting on one of the stools next to the counter. He winks at you just as you’re processing that— _“Oh great”_ —he’s back. “Thanks.”

            You don’t reply, and you start preparing his order. Your mind suddenly starts whirring with thoughts. You’d forgotten about Guzma for the past few days, it’s true, but now all your questions are coming back to you. How should you approach him? Should you even tell him that you know him? Should you just ignore him? Why are you getting so worked up over this, anyway? Should you even care?

            A quick look at the digital clock at the edge of the counter tells you it’s about eleven-thirty. Why does Guzma always show up so late? To avoid other patrons? You know that they’re uncomfortable with his presence, as is Nurse Joy, who’s anxiously shifting her gaze to you every now and then. You stir the cocoa powder and milk together in the pot on the stove and subconsciously bite your lip. But the real question is: Are you going to confront him or not?

            After you’re sure that the drink is evenly mixed, you give Guzma a mug without saying anything, take his money, and then toss him back his change. You also silently present him with a Casteliacone and a bag of Poké Beans, which he pockets. He notes that you’re a lot quieter this time around than in your first meeting, and he tilts his head to the side before resting his chin on an upturned palm.

            Not appreciating the way that he’s just _staring_ at you, you inhale sharply, deciding that you might as well bring up what you’ve been curious about this whole time.

            “You’re Guzma, aren’t you?”

            The white-haired man chuckles and only continues to stare at you. Damn. What’s so funny?

            “The one and only,” he answers amusedly.

            You blink. He’d just confirmed that he really had been your childhood rival. You assume that he knows you, and he’s known you ever since he saw you here. Your brain works quickly, and the words slip out before you can stop them, “So you really _were_ the punk-ass kid who’d always challenge me to battles.”

            He laughs and nearly chokes on his sip of Tapu Cocoa.

            “It’s not that hilarious, is it?” you more or less demand instead of question. You don’t like that he finds you so entertaining when you aren’t meaning to be.

            “Dunno. Just never thought I’d see _you_ around again.” Guzma’s pretty cryptic with his response, and you just squint at him momentarily.

            “ _Huh_?” You cross your arms. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

            The former leader of Team Skull shrugs. This isn’t quite some “friendly” reunion between you two but more of a mutual discovery.

            “If you remember me as that ‘punk-ass kid’”—he air quotes your phrase just to irritate you a bit more—“then I’d hafta say you’d be that uptight stickler in my books.”

            “Excuse _you_?!” You’re livid now, and you smack the bag of marshmallows in your hand against the counter. Guzma raises his hands in defense.

            “Woah, woah, doll, you sure are feisty. Don’t gotta be like that, ya know.” He shrugs again as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

            You shake your head, eyebrows pinching together as you seethe. “You—you—you’re still infuriating as ever!”

            Guzma just laughs at you more. “And you’re as easy to annoy as ever.”  

            This isn’t exactly how you’d thought that this meeting would go.

            “But hey, I can get why you’re pissed. Ya boy would always be the one to come out on top in our battles,” he remarks, tilting his chin back and looking extremely haughty. He’s pretty confident about the record of all your past battles, isn’t he?

            “That’s not how _I_ remember it. You’d always lose to _me_ ,” you correct him as you point an index finger at yourself.

            “That a challenge?” He leans forward as you do, and you grit your teeth.

            Narrowing your eyes, you retort firmly, “Maybe.”

            “Then let’s settle it,” Guzma announces, smirking and standing up, his hands sliding into his pockets.

            “I’d be glad to,” you almost snarl out, your temper flaring. All your memories about Guzma—most of them with him aggravating you—are flooding back to you now, and they sure are setting you off.

            You don’t really care that it’s almost midnight and that you’d just challenged your customer, an ex-gang leader, and former childhood rival to a battle.

            You’ve got a score to settle, and you’re ready to settle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm just assuming that after a few months of training with Hala, Guzma's learned more about battling (like all the stuff about not just trying to beat down his opponents) which is why he's humoring the reader's challenge in a light-hearted way.


	3. Unfinished (Battles) Cup 2 – Route 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You two battle, and then you're not quite satisfied at all. He isn't either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, happy holidays to everyone! Hope that you all are doing well! I definitely could be doing better lol. But also a note about this story--I'm planning to make the chapters longer once the plot gets more underway, so look forward to that! (:

              Following Guzma outside the Pokémon Center, you make sure that your bag has all your Poké Balls in it, except Vikavolt’s. Hers is always fastened to your belt, as she is your most trusted partner and you can count on her in any situation. For sure, you’ll be relying on her strength for this battle.  

              As you lift your head to look around, you realize it’s pretty dark out, and that you _might_ have been a little foolish in challenging Guzma without thinking too much of it at the time. Well, since you’re in this, you might as well deal with the consequences you’ve brought upon yourself. You shrug and continue walking behind Guzma, but you keep your distance. You notice that he’s headed towards the black, rocky shore below the Route 8 motel, and you suppose that’s where you’ll be squaring off.

              It’s a site notorious for being the home of sunbathing Wimpod who are immensely hard to capture, since they scurry away upon seeing any foreign creature.

              Huh. Figures he’d pick somewhere like this.

              You haven’t noticed that you’ve both stopped walking until Guzma speaks up, “This place good for a fight?”

              “Yeah.” You take a few steps back as Guzma does the same, and you can feel your heart beating faster as you widen your stance. The movements of preparing for a Pokémon battle seem so familiar and nostalgic for you; it’s been a while since you’ve actually fought someone all-out after returning from Hoenn.

              It’s been a while since you’ve fought your childhood rival, too.

              “We’ll get three Pokémon, fine with you?” you ask, staring at Guzma, whose figure is half-hidden in the shadows cast around you both. His gray eyes flash as moonlight reflects off them, the silvery glow illuminating his sharp features. It almost makes him appear menacing, and you could see, for a moment, how he must have looked when he had been feared by many as Team Skull’s Boss. You swallow subconsciously. His slouched posture, presumptuous smirk, and his loose grip on an Ultra Ball just continue to add to his confident, self-assured demeanor.

              “Fine with me, sweetheart,” he calls to you, grinning haughtily, his white teeth the only defined thing you can see as his face is obscured by the darkness of the night. “Don’t matter how many ‘mons it is—I’ll still win.”

              You will yourself to stay focused, and you counter evenly, “Keep telling yourself that, and—you know what? It still won’t make a difference. I’m always gonna win.”

              Oh, boy. Looks like the trash-talking between you two hasn’t changed either.

              You can hear the rumble of a chuckle coming from Guzma’s direction, and you pause in your motion of reaching for Vikavolt’s Poké Ball.

              “Still got that sassy-ass attitude, don’t ya?”

              His eyes glint in the moonlight, yet again, and you say nothing in return.

              You look at Guzma and observe him quietly as he sizes you up as well. This exact situation brings back every memory of every battle you’ve had with Guzma. Each fight starts with the same moment of assessment and belittling. Granted, the two of you know that you both have lost against one another before, and the score between you is actually pretty close. But you’re sure that you’re the one who’s winning in your long-standing rivalry. And you’ll add another victory to your side today. Everything about him right now is fueling your desire to defeat him so soundly that he won’t have anything to say at all after this. From the way he’s tossing an Ultra Ball up and down as if he’s taunting you to how he’s obviously getting a kick out of your reactions—everything makes you want to win more.

              “I gotta admit it’s kinda hot”—he lifts his eyebrows at you and his smirk widens—“but it kinda makes me wanna win this thing even more.”

              All right, that _is not_ what you had been expecting from him, and you’re glad that it’s nighttime, or he would easily see how embarrassed you are. Your shoulders tighten. Ugh! He probably doesn’t mean anything by his words; it’s just another case of his flirting with you, but this time to make you slip up or something. You rest a hand against Vikavolt’s Poké Ball to calm yourself. You can’t rush into this without initially planning out a strategy. Your closest partner first. Then Lycanroc and Marowak, their order of appearance depending on what Pokémon he’ll be using. You would have decided to put Bewear in the lineup, for his sheer ability to take hits, punch hard, and resist well, but Lycanroc’s night-vision and effectiveness against Bug types would be more useful here.

              “You look sorta stiff, princess. Chill out a bit.”

              Guzma, with all his antics, is clearly trying to rile you up, and you can’t let him do that. Even though you would never admit it to him, you have to make sure you’re in top-form for a fight against him.  

              Your eyes narrow as you realize he could see you tense up. “Chill out yourself.”

              And this is exactly why you must be in peak condition for a battle with Guzma. He’s a lot more capable and adept than people would think him to be. After all, he had been your most difficult rival to deal with, and honestly, he still is, with his brash countenance, arrogance, and just simply exasperating words. And because he’s been training with Hala, you’re not sure what his skills—undoubtedly better than before—are like now. As much as you don’t want to tell yourself this, you know that Guzma’s probably improved significantly since the last time you’d battled him.

              But he’s not the only one who’s gained a lot of experience as a Trainer since then.

              A smoky cloud slowly begins to move across the moon, and the light shining down on the two of you dims slightly. You can barely see Guzma’s silhouette now, but you know that he still has that smug expression on his face. You tell yourself to not let him bother you anymore, and you concentrate on your surroundings and yourself. The night winds rustle the trees of the nearby Lush Jungle, and then they stop. Everything is silent around you, and you can hear the quick, rhythmic beating of your heart. You steady your breathing. This is it.

              You glance at Guzma, and this time, your eyes meet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you two that sends a starting flag into the air.

              Guzma grins as he throws his Ultra Ball forward, and he yells, “You ain’t ever gonna be ready for ya boy! It’s time for destruction in human form!”

              For a moment, you wonder what he’s talking about with the whole “ya boy” and “destruction” business, but then your mind clicks into all-battle mode, and you’re ready to fight.

              “You’re the one who’s not ready for the ass-kicking!” you answer heatedly, pulling Vikavolt’s Poké Ball from your belt and lobbing it upwards in one fluid motion.

              There are two flashes of white light, and when you click Vikavolt’s capsule back to your belt, you see Guzma’s first choice.

              Golisopod. Of course.

              The hunched Bug-Water type roars aggressively and then readies himself, claws catching the moonlight and reminding you of how dangerous they are. Vikavolt responds to Golispod’s challenge with a ferocious battle cry of her own. She snaps her jaws loudly, and the ominous clacking reverberates in the night air. She’s definitely ready for a good battle.

              “Lil’ Charjabug’s all grown up, huh?” muses Guzma, gesturing towards your Pokémon, who buzzes fiercely in response. If you could see him more clearly, you would have noticed that he appeared more curious than anything else as he made his observation. He has almost a genuine, intrigued smile on his face, obscured by the shadows of trees shifting as the wind blows again.

              It’s unfortunate that you don’t.

              “Mmhmm.” What you do realize is that this is the first fight in which you’ll be using Vikavolt against him. That could be a nice advantage. Referring to how he always begins each of his battles with Golisopod, you comment, “And I see you haven’t changed much.”

              You expect to hear a snide remark from Guzma, but when you look at him, he seems almost contemplative, a startlingly serious expression on his face. Perhaps it’s just some odd look that the contrast of shadows and light give him.

              Or is there something with what you said?

              Then, his downright maddening smirk is back, and he laughs, “Well, if you think that, I sure got lotsa new tricks to show ya.” He lowers himself to his favorite battling position—a squat—and cocks his head to the side.

              His last attempt at distracting you before the battle starts. And you hate acknowledging that it kind of works on you.

              Hastily, you push any thoughts that aren’t related to this fight aside, and you decide that you’ll respond to him with your first attack, “Vikavolt! Thunderbolt!”

              “First Impression!” Guzma isn’t fazed by your sudden starting of the battle, and he yells a command to his Pokémon only a split second after you do. It’s almost as if he’d been ready for you to begin without warning.

              Just as Vikavolt begins to let loose a barrage of lightning, Golisopod dashes forward, claws out to the sides as he nimbly dodges each bolt aimed at him. The blasts of electricity strike the rocky ground instead, and in their wake, they leave black, charred patches.

              “Shit,” you curse under your breath as you see Golisopod rapidly approaching Vikavolt. Guzma’s Pokémon is a lot faster than before, and you’re certain that the rest of them probably are as well.

              You’ve got to keep Golisopod at a distance. “Discharge, Vikavolt!”

              Smartly, she avoids releasing a huge shockwave that’d probably take out the power of the buildings in a few kilometers range, and instead controls her Discharge to threaten Golisopod enough so he stops his advance. It’d most likely jar some electronics nearby a bit, but they’d revert to normal, and it wouldn’t be your problem. Your problem right now is what you next move should be—

              “Rock Slide!” Guzma calls out to his Pokémon, who flings a wave of stones and rocks and debris toward Vikavolt.

              You barely have any time to be surprised that Golisopod can learn Rock Slide—must have been a new move, since he’d never used it in any of your previous battles—before you shout to Vikavolt hurriedly, “Fly up, dodge it!”

              Vikavolt jets upward, and she swiftly evades all the projectiles hurled at her before taking a nose-dive and heading for Golispod. You smile. She’s read your mind. You’ve got to take back the upper hand—as you feel that you’ve been a little off your game—and you’re ready to do it.

              Not having to command your Pokémon, you watch as she sends a Thunder Wave toward Golisopod, and you cheer in your head when you see it connects. The Bug-Water type takes the paralysis and flinches momentarily, and you hear Guzma cuss from across your makeshift field. Now’s your chance!

              “Thunderbolt, again!” You subconsciously throw one of your arms forward, the other pressed closely to your chest.

              Your Pokémon executes the move perfectly, and having effectively slowed Golisopod down already, she’s able to hit her mark. You don’t think you’d be able to take him out with just one attack, and you’re right. Golisopod shakes off the Thunderbolt after being brought down to one of his knees, but that’s enough for Guzma to recall his Pokémon.

              You grit your teeth. You don’t like the fact that he’s returned Golisopod so early, and that he looks as smug as ever.

              “You ain’t got me on the run at all, babe,” he reassures you, sending a wink your way. You stop yourself from snapping back at him and instead wait for his second pick to appear. You’ve learned at this point to ignore the ridiculous names he’s pinned to you.

              Guzma grins as he sends out his next Pokémon. In another brief flash of light, his Scizor appears, and you press your lips together as you assess the situation now. You need Vikavolt to take down Golisopod later, but maybe you’d see if you could get a Thunder Wave off on Scizor before withdrawing her. Marowak would really shine in this battle, though, if you get a chance to bring her out against Scizor.

              Now Guzma is the one who launches the first attack. “Swagger!”

              You’re surprised again, but because you’d expected Scizor to lead off with an X-Scissor or Aerial Ace or some physical move. You really have to stop trying to guess what Guzma’s planning next and just anticipate any possible move; you’re not sure what’s wrong with you in this fight. In all your previous battles, you had never been caught off-guard this many times.

Vikavolt instantly buzzes in fury, Scizor’s haughty Swagger getting on her nerves in a way that mirrors how Guzma seems to get on yours. There’s quite the similarity between Trainer and Pokémon that you can see just barely in the dark—both with a semblance of a smirk on their faces and just the way they carry themselves. Some clouds in the sky again pass over the moon, and then the light illuminates your battlefield, which reveals your opponent in a way that you can finally see all of him. He’s still crouched low to the ground, his arms loosely hanging over his knees as he bounces on the tips of his toes. He notices that you’re observing him, and then he grins.

              You shake your head. Damn. You have to stop getting distracted.

              “Get in there with an X-Scissor!” Guzma isn’t going to hold back now that he knows he’s got the advantage.

              “Vikavolt, snap outta it!” you yell to your Pokémon, who’s floundering about, her mandibles closing on nothing but air. Forget trying to paralyze Scizor when Vikavolt isn’t even responding to you or her own commands.

              Metal shining under the moonlight, Scizor reaches Vikavolt in a few seconds and then bats her to the ground with two precise strikes. A mini cloud of dust billows upward when Vikavolt rolls some ways on the shore, and you hold back a gasp. You steel yourself and cry, “Get _up_ , Vikavolt! You can do it! You don’t like to lose, do you?!”

              Now _that_ seems to get her to break free of Swagger’s grip on her mind, and she shoots up like a bullet.

              If there’s one thing anyone should know about your Vikavolt, it’s that she absolutely detests losing.

              You vaguely hear Guzma tell his Scizor “Night Slash!” so you don’t have a moment to spare to praise Vikavolt for recovering well. But she knows that you’re proud of her. She tests her wings speedily to see if she’s sustained any damage to them, but upon finding nothing too severe, she blasts forward, the luminescent patches on her body bursting with yellow.

              Yeah, she’s positively _pissed_ off.

              And when she’s pissed off, you know exactly what she’s up to.

              Grinning, you shout to her, “Show them your favorite move! You know what to do!”

              Dodging Scizor’s Night Slash with a quick corkscrew spiral around her opponent, Vikavolt firmly latches onto him with a vicious Guillotine. She’s got her jaws clamped tightly on the spot where Scizor’s wings meet his back, and she’s not intending to let go any time soon. Panicked, Scizor reaches behind himself to try and dislodge your Pokémon from his back, but to no avail. He swats at her with his claws in a futile attempt to attack her, but Vikavolt stubbornly continues to grip onto him.

              “Throw ‘em off, bud!” You detect a trace of distress laced in Guzma’s words, and you smirk, before retorting cheekily.

              “Don’t think so!”

              The struggle continues for a little while longer before your Vikavolt decides that she’s had enough of being jostled around, and she goes for a Discharge. Still holding onto Scizor’s back, she channels all her electricity right through him, and you momentarily shield your eyes as she lights up the field. When you bring your hand down from your face, you see Vikavolt whizz back in front of you and then do a couple victory circles in the sky. Smiling, you assume the best, and you tilt your head so that you can see past her. Scizor is knocked out on the ground, and you grin. Normally, you don’t think that a single Discharge would defeat one of Guzma’s Pokémon, but Vikavolt’s power is something to be feared when she’s angry.

              “Nice job, girl,” you laugh, reaching out to pet Vikavolt’s head before unclipping her Poké Ball from your belt. “I’ll need you again, later. So have a good rest for now.”

              She disappears into the ball in a beam of red light, just as Guzma recalls his Scizor. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you assume he’s also thanking his Pokémon.

              “Didn’t think you’d take down Scizor that fast,” remarks the white-haired man as he stands up and stretches. It’s like his statement is some kind of severely diluted compliment—diluted with disdain—that you can barely assume is praise.

              And so you don’t take it as a compliment.

              “Then, you thought we _would_ beat Scizor eventually?” you retort smartly, snagging Marowak’s Dusk Ball from your bag before glaring at Guzma.

              Even though it’s dark around you both, you’re pretty sure he can see you.

              “Tch.” You suppose that you’ve annoyed him now. “You ain’t gonna be talkin’ that much when we’re done here.”

              Instead of firing back with another caustic comment, you send out Marowak. She looks back at you before lighting her bone with sinister green flames and taking up a fighting stance. You’ll let your Pokémon do the talking for you.

              “Let’s go, ‘Pod!”

              So it’s his Golisopod again. You purse your lips. Not the greatest match-up for your Fire-Ghost type, but she’ll manage. You trust her.

              Guzma’s now back to squatting, and without wasting a moment, he yells, “Aqua Jet!”

              Golisopod seems to have recovered a bit from his fight with Vikavolt, and he’s still as fast as ever. A great burst of water surrounds his form as he races towards Marowak and barrels straight into her before she can even dodge. Eyes blazing, Marowak growls while pinned between a large boulder and the back of Golisopod’s claw. Not needing any urging, Guzma’s Pokémon reaches upward with his unoccupied arm as he readies a Razor Shell.

              “Marowak,” you frantically call out, “Headbutt, then Shadow Bone!”

              Nodding to you, she slams the front of her skull against Golisopod’s claw, and from the injured noise the Bug-Water type releases, you know it hurts. That distracts him enough for Marowak to free herself and leap into the air, her club surrounded with a purple and cyan glow. Aiming for Golisopod’s head, Marowak brings her bone down like a hammer as she descends from the sky quickly, her smaller figure cutting through the night air easily.

              “Razor Shell!” Guzma confirms what move you had thought Golisopod would be using on your Pokémon, and you hastily put together an alternative plan.

              “Marowak, make it a Bonemerang, and you get out of the way!” You’ve practiced this combination of actions and moves with her before, so you know that she won’t let you down.

              She lets out a cry of understanding before twisting midair and throwing her club out to the side as she falls nearer and nearer to Golisopod, who’s ready to attack. Marowak spins backwards just in time to avoid getting hit by a Razor Shell, and she lands back on her feet. The bone flies towards Golisopod from behind, and he only narrowly dodges the assault thanks to a last-second warning from his Trainer.

              “Bulldoze!” you command, your Pokémon instantly following through and slamming the butt of her club into the ground, a light tremor running through the earth. Some rocks shift here and there, and you know that you’re not really doing any damage to Golisopod, but the move was meant to throw him off balance more than anything. Deftly, she hops across the uneven terrain and makes it towards Golisopod as you yell to her for a Shadow Bone once more.

              Guzma is ready, though, and he counters, “Sucker Punch!”

              Before you can even make sense of anything, Marowak is slammed with an ugly blow from Golisopod. She goes tumbling to the ground, her club flung from her grip at an oddly quick speed and disappearing into the night shadows.

              You wait a couple seconds to try and figure out if she’s all right, but she doesn’t move.

              She isn’t going to get up from that one, you can see, and you grimace.

              Just as you’re about to recall her, there’s a short whirring noise, and then Golisopod roars in pain when Marowak’s club smacks the back of his shell. Golisopod digs one of his claws into the ground as he recovers from the attack, and you can hear Guzma curse.

              “Nice work,” you tell your Pokémon as you return her to her Dusk Ball. “You did really good.”

              Guzma seems to have become his smug self again, and even Golisopod, though worn-down a bit, still looks like he could battle more.

              “Looks like the score’s even now, huh?” You can just see Guzma’s eyes flashing in the moonlight, and you feel a shiver run up your spine. You shake yourself free of the feeling try to think of something else.

              You’re kind of surprised by the fact that he doesn’t rub it into your face more. But then again, he hasn’t won the battle, so celebrations shouldn’t have been in order anyway.

              You don’t say anything in reply, because he’s right, and instead, ready for the next fight, you toss a Premier Ball forward.

              With a chilling howl, your red and white wolf Pokémon appears, a maniacal grin curling along his snout as he recognizes who his opponent is.

              “Looks like Lycanroc remembers you,” you comment somewhat amusedly. Your Pokémon turns back to you and snickers, holding up a paw to his face as he side-eyes the white-haired man.

              Guzma juggles an Ultra Ball in his hand. “Hah. Ain’t that sweet—I’m remembered.” For some reason, there’s an edge to his tone that has you wondering what he means by his last few words. If the moon had decided to peek out from behind some clouds at that moment, the sarcastic grin—slightly pained and slightly regretful—would have hinted to you that there _is_ more to what he had said.

              You don’t question him, and you watch as Golisopod returns to Guzma again. Lycanroc growls in annoyance at his target’s retreat.

              “Front n’ center, Pinsir!” You don’t see Guzma, as he’s hidden in the shadows, but you do see his final Pokémon take the stage. The bug sporting an impressive pair of pincers that rival your Vikavolt’s clicks upon noticing your Lycanroc. It seems like Pinsir remembers you and your Pokémon too.

              The battle starts again before you know it, and it’s you who’s called out a move right away, “Stone Edge!”

              Lycanroc lets out a howl of laughter as he smashes the ground in front of him, sending a line of jagged rocks toward Pinsir.

              Guzma reacts without hesitating, “Brick Break ‘em all down!” He punches forward for emphasis, and Pinsir follows through simultaneously.

              There’s the cracking of rock and you watch in momentary awe as Pinsir destroys every sharpened stone thrust at him from the split in the ground. Guzma doesn’t waste any more time, and just as the last of your Pokémon’s attack is effectively blasted into harmless dust, he calls, “Storm Throw, then Brutal Swing!”

              Pinsir speeds toward Lycanroc, and you frown as it hits you that you’re playing defense, again. “Lycanroc, Rock Throw!”

              The wolf Pokémon begins pelting Pinsir with an assortment of rocks and debris that had been created from his last move, but seeing how Pinsir easily crushes each of them, Lycanroc resorts to something else. He slams a paw against the ground for another Stone Edge to keep Pinsir at bay, but the bug leaps up and out of the immediate danger. Lycanroc doesn’t even need to glance at you when you tell him, “Rock Climb, then go in for a Crunch!”

              Scaling the faces of the stones he’d forced from the ground, Lycanroc collides with Pinsir halfway in the air. The two grapple with one another as they fall back down, and you bring up a hand to block your face when they land, a huge puff of dust rising into the sky. When it starts to clear, you can see Lycanroc and Pinsir wrestling with each other, your Pokémon snapping his jaws close to Pinsir’s face. You can hear the two scuffling despite not being able to see them all too clearly.

              “Crunch!”

              “Guillotine!”

              You and Guzma both catch your Pokémon’s attention at the same time, and you wait anxiously to see who will get out of this mess victorious.

              Just as Pinsir’s about to execute a Guillotine according to his Trainer’s wishes and Lycanroc is nearly crunching Pinsir’s shoulder, there’s a noise louder than anything either of you had expected.

              “HEY!”

              Everyone freezes in place. Pinsir and Lycanroc stop mid-attack and stare in the direction of where the shout had come from, as they are the first to notice that the voice does not belong to either Trainer near them. You instinctively glance where you think Guzma is, and then your gaze flicks towards wherever your Pokémon is looking. Oh.

              Uh-oh. That’s the motel you’re staring at.

              “Shitshitshit,” you mutter as you fumble for Lycanroc’s Premier Ball in your bag. You find it in record time and return your Pokémon without thinking about what this could mean for your battle with Guzma. He seems to be on the same wavelength of thought as you, and right after Lycanroc disappears, so does Pinsir.

              “WHAT IN THE NAME OF ARCEUS IS GOING ON OUT THERE?”

              You, Guzma, and your Pokémon are definitely the reason for an angry motel patron shouting into the night.

              You aren’t sure if you’re hearing things right, but you _think_ that you hear some footsteps that indicate someone is heading your way.

              Not what you want to stick around for.

              Bolting for the first nearby place that pops into your mind, you run as fast as you can towards the Lush Jungle and don’t look back. The sound of your shoes slapping rock soon turns into the soft, hurried plodding of sneakers against grasses, and when you finally think you’ve made it far enough from your battle site, you inhale deeply. The scent of fresh greenery and Mago Berry flowers calms you down enough so that you’re thinking properly as you find a place to sit down. Resting against the flat face of a smooth boulder, you look around, and realize that you’re not too far into the Jungle, and you’ll be able to find your way out. After all, you’ll have to get out to have a Charizard pick you up; it’d be hard for the Pokémon to fly through the canopy of leaves blocking most of the light from entering the Jungle. Even though there isn’t much light filtering through the treetops right now, you can slowly begin to see more and more around you.

              You decide you’ll wait until you’re a bit more relaxed to head out. You release Lycanroc from his Premier Ball as you’re just a tad worried that something might hop out and attack you while you’re here. Your Pokémon nuzzles against your cheek affectionately before letting his tongue loll out of his mouth and his eyes close happily. He definitely wants you to pet him, and you give in with a quiet laugh. Running your fingers through his thick fur, you tell him, “Sorry about the battle. You’ll get to fight him another time.”

              Lycanroc grumbles and butts you gently with the top of his head, the gesture meant to say that he understands.

              “Me and my stupid idea of battling Guzma _now_ of all times. I can’t believe I just jumped in like that.” You groan. Great idea, yeah. You hate to admit it, but Guzma really throws off your sense of judgement sometimes. You _really_ don’t like that.

              A few more minutes tick by, and your breath starts evening out. Hopping to your feet and rolling your shoulders, you reach for your Ride Pager.

              Your first priority should be getting out of here. After all, you can’t battle Guzma again if you don’t.

              And you just _have_ to, for the inconclusive end to your fight today doesn’t satisfy you at all.

              You’re sure it doesn’t satisfy him either.


	4. Cup 3 – Route 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter that's just a bit more pleasant than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy, has it been a while. i'm sorry that i'm only updating this now, but these past five months have been borderline gonna kill me with annoying school stuff and people, lol. my bird who i've had for six years had to be put down last month, and i think i died along with him a bit, so i'm still trying to deal with that in a constructive way. i guess this chapter is the result of that? i'm glad this is the first real thing i've gone back to and updated--despite it being kinda short--in these past five months, actually. i'm hopeful that i can write more for this too, since i'm out of school!

              Waking up is more difficult than you expect it to be. You don’t even want to move out of bed when you open your eyes, and you don’t really want to show up to work. It’s going to be awkward, since you know Nurse Joy will probably have questions that you’re not quite sure you can answer properly. With a great amount of effort, you haul yourself out of bed and trudge through your morning routine so that you can actually look semi-presentable.

              When you appear in the Pokémon Center, you’re surprised that Nurse Joy doesn’t ask you a single thing about your disappearing out the door with Guzma and not returning last night. She stays behind her station and doesn’t move upon seeing you. Instead, the pink-haired woman sends you a look you’re wary of, and you’re not sure if she’s pissed at you or she just can’t figure you out. You shrug lightly. Well, she isn’t the only one. You can’t even figure out yourself sometimes, either. What was going through your mind yesterday, when you just decided to challenge Guzma? Abandoning your safety for your pride? Ridiculous. You snort. You’ve never made such fickle mistakes before. You stop momentarily in pushing aside the sliding door to your counter. Before… what?

              Lips curling into a grimace, you conclude it’s before you’d met Guzma again. Before you’d met Guzma again, you’d been more thorough with yourself and logically worked your way through everything. How can just one person screw up your reason like he does?

              You sigh. You hope he doesn’t show up again. It’ll probably do you some good. It’s probably for the best if he never shows up again, and you never have to see him again.

              In a little over a week, that’s what will happen, you conclude. You’ll return to your job at the Hokulani Observatory, and you highly doubt that Guzma would even be remotely interested in a place like that. He doesn’t even know that you work there, to begin with.

              Huh. Your emotions are complicated, sending you on a wild hunt for some clarity in your thoughts that you really wish you could find. On one hand, as much as you don’t care about seeing Guzma ever again, you really do want to settle the score. And that’s not because of your pride as much as it is the fact that you’d forgotten the thrill of battling someone like your old childhood rival again. There’s a rush in the challenge of fighting him that you hadn’t realized until now that you’d been missing during your formal studies and work. Although he was—and still kind of is—annoying, you had never hated testing your skills against him during your Island Challenge. You sigh.

              But you hadn’t seen him for years. During that time, you had been fine with not having a decisive winner between you two, so what’s wrong with you now?

              You don’t like feeling confused.

              You tell yourself that it’ll be for the best if you never see him again.

              While you’re stuffing your bag under the counter on a low shelf, it hits you once more that everything you did last night was extremely suspicious. You’d be suspicious of someone if they’d just walked out with a former gang leader at almost midnight for unknown reasons despite multiple warnings pertaining to his attitude.

              And you _had_ done that.

              Resisting the urge to facepalm, you exhale irritably and shake your head. Disappointing. What happened to being disciplined? You groan and search through the café supplies to prepare yourself a mug of Nomel tea, a much-needed remedy for what you know is an oncoming headache.

              As much as you want to avoid thinking about the Bug-type Trainer, you’re not sure you can.

              What do you feel about Guzma?

              Perhaps it’s more of what you associate with Guzma and battling him. Childhood? Freedom? Doing something for fun, and for a goal, rather than just _doing_ it for it to be done? Like you are now with your job? Though it’s not that you don’t like your job at the Observatory, no. It’s just the responsibility of being an adult?

              Being an adult is stressful.

              You amend your statement as you think about Guzma again.

              No, being a human is stressful. That’s it.

              Minutes languidly tick by as you address your customers and attempt to do some of the work you had from the Observatory. It’s unfortunate that you’re not quite able to focus at all, with your mind dwelling elsewhere, thoughts of your childhood rival conquering those pertinent to your study and throwing you off completely.

              You’d never expected to feel the way you do now—drained and uncertain—all because of one variable, one person whose place in your life you can’t understand.

              And you don’t expect Guzma to show up any time at all in the near future.

              That’s why it’s quite the surprise when he does—the very day after your inconclusive battle—and slams a palm against the café countertop to announce his presence.

              As if you just hadn’t seen him storm into the Pokémon Center.

              “You and me are gonna smack down right now! We both know that battle woulda ended with me winning,” he declares, lips pulling into a smirk, as he leans over the counter.

              “Hold a second,” you mutter tentatively, disconcerted while he invades your personal space. He doesn’t move, so you scoot backwards, and feeling that you can finally breathe again, you study him carefully. He lifts his eyebrows at you, and his smirk widens when he notices how you’ve shuffled away from him a good distance. Glad that the counter is between you two, you push aside your discomfort and send him a pointed look. After digesting the fact that Guzma truly _is here again_ and that he wants to battle, you ignore the other patrons staring at you and him to focus on your current situation. Reflecting on last night’s battle, you decide to think things through this time, and you purse your lips as you form your response.

              Raising an index finger, you start, “Look here, _doofus_ —”

              Only to be interrupted.

              “‘Doofus’?” repeats the former gang leader incredulously. He seems more amused in disbelief than insulted. “Seriously? ‘ _Doofus_ ’?”

              “Yeah.” What, had he thought you would call him something much more vulgar? Folding your arms and deadpanning, you defend yourself, “If you’re not gonna call me by my name, then why should I call you by yours?”

              Guzma looks like he’s about to say something, but then he shrugs and nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he agrees, “Hell. That’s a fair point.”

              He doesn’t make a ruckus about it. That surprises you. But you don’t forget about what he had demanded just moments before.

              “Well, anyway, listen here doofus, you can’t expect me to agree to all your challenges, you know,” you speak again, turning away from him as you wipe a mug clean, “because I can’t just drop everything and battle you whenever you show up.”

              Guzma is about to fire off a taunt—that perhaps you’re afraid of losing to him. But he’s stunned by the next words that leave your mouth, and he’s glad that you’re not looking at him, as shock is written all over his face.

              “If you want to battle, we’ll have to fight before or after my work hours, or on the weekend. That sound okay for you?” You set the mug on a rack to dry and begin to set up some other supplies. Believing that you’re going to turn to look at him and catch him in his shocked, off-guard state, Guzma scrambles to put up a nonchalant front. He almost sighs out loud when he sees that you’re still standing with your back to him.

              The white-haired Trainer cannot believe this. He’d thought that you’d make a much bigger deal of his challenge than this, instead of taking it in stride and reacting calmly. In fact, he didn’t think that you _would_ accept his challenge without continuous prompting. Subconsciously, he ends up watching you move about your routine of café duties—plucking some assortment of tea bags from a box, reaching for a kettle, and setting some water to boil. It’s now that he wonders where the old man who had used to work here had disappeared to. Maybe he kicked the bucket? Guzma kind of hopes not. He’d been astoundingly unbiased in how he’d treated Guzma, never once commenting about his criminal past, even though Guzma is sure that he knew about it. It was truthfully nice. But now you’re here, and Guzma’s not too sure how he feels about you. He hates having to deal with this weird feeling and strangely familiar but infuriating emotions. Trying to ignore them, Guzma absently stares at one of the packets in your hand and reads the name printed on its side: “Rabuta Tea.”

              His face scrunches in unabashed repugnance, and he momentarily forgets that you’re actually all right with battling him again.

              Having not answered your question, he then realizes that he’s been quiet for far too long. However, he doesn’t manage to say anything in time before you cock your head to the side and query, “Um, hello?”

              Guzma files away his previous thoughts for a later time to mull over, and he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I was listening. That sounds okay.”

              The way you regard him clearly indicates that you’re not buying it, and he hurries to add on, “Hey, I was. I was also just looking at that nasty shit you have there.”

              He juts his chin out towards your hand holding the tea bags.

              “Huh?” You raise them up to eye level. “This? What’s wrong with tea?”

              “ _That_ ,” Guzma pronounces disgustedly, his lips curling back slightly as he points at the choice offender. “Rabuta whatever stuff. I already don’t like tea, but that shit is _bad_. I mean, it’s bitter as hell!”

              Taken aback, you blink rapidly and then shake your head. “What? It’s not that bitter, actually. There are some other berries and berry leaves used to make it—”

              “It’s still shitty,” concludes Guzma with a definite finality, resting both his elbows on the counter as he takes a seat. He shrugs. “Always will be.”

              “It _has_ medicinal properties, doofus,” you reply pointedly as you turn to your right and begin rustling through a netted box for a Rabuta Berry. “Rabuta tea is known for helping cleanse the stomach and—”

              “You’re a nerd.”

              You stop midway in grabbing the green and slightly hairy berry to round on Guzma. “What?”

              You’re not expecting him to be staring at you again, a lopsided grin on his lips as he repeats, “You’re a nerd.”

              “Why, because I know a common fact about a berry that’s famous for its medicinal properties?” Refusing to be bothered by his comment, you turn his statement back on him and relish how he appears irked by your swift retort.

              It doesn’t take him long to recover from that, and he’s back to his typically smug self. “Nah. Well, you’re the only person I’ve ever known to start spewing facts about berries for conversation.”

              Squinting at him for just a second, you set the Rabuta Berry down on the counter and stew over what he had said. You have a snarky riposte all prepared to fling back at him—“Then I guess you haven’t been around very intelligent people”—but it’s something at the back of your conscience, shoving itself forward, that halts your sharp tongue.

              It’s also what makes you stop, with your mouth partially open, index finger raised, and looking completely outrageous as you ready to deliver a scathing remark, but instead say nothing.

              Guzma blinks.

              And then he howls with laughter.

              Of course he finds this hilarious.

              You’re tempted to throw the Rabuta Berry at him, but you rein in the urge.

              With fire burning in your cheeks, you meekly tell him to shut up before you turn around again. You’re glad that you’d been preparing tea, so you have something to do and don’t have to look at him. As you dangle a tea bag over the edge of your cup, you mentally chide yourself. You know Guzma has annoyed you a lot before, and still does. But what you had been about to tell him was a bit uncalled for. Your grandfather would have been disappointed in you. After all, he had always told you to treat everyone with respect, something that you’re still finding that you need to work on, obviously. Although you’re irritated that Guzma now has something else to laugh about at your expense, you’re glad that you had stopped yourself before you had said something offensive. At least he won’t ever know.

              And it’s then, with a resentful sigh, that you recognize you don’t want him to go.

              As much as Guzma annoys you, you don’t want him to go.

              What that means, you’re not exactly sure, but you _are_ sure that you want to keep battling Guzma. You want to be able to exchange witty banter with him, just as you had as children, and as you had now. There’s a smile you hadn’t even realized was on your face that quickly disintegrates once you also realize it all sounds too hopelessly idealistic.

              And definitely hypocritical, considering what you’d been thinking earlier in the day.

              This is why you liked staying secluded—up there in the Observatory—ignoring everyone besides a select few, and working with your numbers, machines, and Pokémon. It’s easier to figure out things that have a set answer to them, like trajectories, rather than something as perplexing as feelings and emotions. What kinds of answers are you supposed to get out of them?

              You hate that you don’t know.

              Holding your cup and doing your best to not look at him, you hope that your appear more composed now.

               “So, you think we’re having some kind of a conversation here?” you ask him, attempting to divert his focus from your slip-up.

              “Well that was one helluva late comeback.” Amused, Guzma places his chin on a hand as he stares at you. It’s unnerving. “I guess so. Something else you’d prefer we do?”

              Of course he has to say it like _that_.

              Your lips purse into a frown, and you know that the traitorous red is back on your face by the way that Guzma looks like he’s about to laugh again. It isn’t your fault though! You’ve never had to deal with someone blatantly flirting with you, and the fact that that someone is Guzma makes it harder for you to remain poised.  

              Why couldn’t he just go back how he was as a kid, screaming insults about how your Popplio shirt looked stupid or something?

              Finally, you tell him, in a flood of words and shamefully flustered tone, “If you’re gonna come in here and try and challenge me and flirt with me, then just buy something while you’re at it!”

              The kettle behind you whistles for your attention, and you’re grateful that you can glance away from Guzma and return to your work. The man is laughing at you, and you scowl.

              “All right, all right, it really _is_ that easy to get under your skin, doll.” You grumble under your breath when you hear Guzma’s remark. “A Tapu Cocoa, then.”

              You’re tempted to ask him if that’s all he ever drinks, but you don’t, for fear of unintentionally embarrassing yourself somehow. Vulnerable in this state, you don’t want to give him any more opportunities to make some kind of joke at you. Instead, you set aside the materials you had gathered for tea and begin making Tapu Cocoa. It’s quiet between you two, and you only now realize that it’s also quiet in the Pokémon Center. There are a couple patrons sitting at a few tables, and you grimly notice that they are the ones farthest from the café corner. You suppose that the customers really don’t like you speaking with Guzma much, or the fact that Guzma is here.

              Or maybe you’re just overthinking things. It could just be coincidence.

              You force yourself to resume your proper composure and reach for some cocoa powder nearby.

              Your discomfort seems to reach Guzma somehow—that it’s because of him, but not about his teasing. He shifts awkwardly in his seat for a second, and if you think that you’re hiding how you’re feeling well, you aren’t. Guzma’s not as dense as you’d guessed.

              Damn. Now you’re feeling _bad_. You don’t _dislike_ Guzma, you tell yourself. He’s annoying, but he’s not someone you can hate.

              And now you feel bad.

              Your grandfather had told you that the reason why he liked working at the café was to help people feel relaxed, perhaps after a stressful day, or to just enjoy themselves. He had said that he should help the café be a place of comfort.

              Well, you’re pretty sure you’re failing at that part.

              “So,” you start, and you’re surprised at how quickly Guzma lifts his gaze to stare at you again. You want to talk again so that the silence doesn’t get to either of you. “If you’re really that eager to challenge me again, then how about we battle this Saturday?”

              You angle yourself so that you’re standing parallel to the stove top and the counter so you can look at Guzma.

              For once, he’s the one to avoid eye contact, and you hope that you’ve effectively diffused the situation. Waiting for his response, you turn back to the Tapu Cocoa you’re mixing.

              “Heh.” Guzma shakes his head and chuckles. “I’m the one who’s eager?”

              “Um, _yeah_ ,” you reply somewhat disbelievingly, scrunching your brows together. You don’t understand how he could forget that he’s the one who made the big entrance into the Pokémon Center fewer than fifteen minutes ago. “You _were_  the one who just busted in here and demanded that I battle you.”

              “I wasn’t the one who asked for the first fight. _You_ were the one who wanted to throw down last night,” points out Guzma with a smirk. He watches how you deflate at his observation, and he knows he’s right.

              You have no answer to that. He’s not wrong, and you _suppose_ that he could say it.

              You were the one who fell victim to his instigations.

              “So are you okay with battling Saturday or not?” You find that the only way you can avoid burying yourself in more embarrassment is by throwing the question back at him.

              “Yeah. Sounds good.”

              Knowing better than to tell him to meet you outside Malie City’s Library, for that’s much too close to where you live, you think about a conveniently located place for the both of you, where you won’t be disturbed. You don’t want a disappointing end to your battle again, like before. Another thought comes to mind, and you realize that you should choose somewhere that won’t attract the public. Considering his past reputation, you don’t want to make Guzma uncomfortable. You’re not that kind of person, and Guzma’s a human being with his own reservations, which you assume include things about his dealings with Team Skull.

              You don’t hate him, after all.

              But you don’t _like_ him either…

              You wonder what’s gotten into you. How can you be certain that he’s changed? You’re hanging around a past gang leader like it’s nothing—or next to nothing. You should be on edge, cautious about his motives and actions. But, at the same time, you know why you’re not. It’s because you’ve known him since he was a child, and even though you hadn’t been friends, you’re aware of a part of him that the general public has no idea about.

              “Really takes you that long to come up with somewhere to fight?”

              Guzma’s voice cuts into your thoughts, and you hurry to provide a viable area for battle. Good thing he doesn’t know what you’d really been pondering over.

              “Uhh, why don’t we meet at the Secluded Shore on Ula’ula? Near Blush Mountain and Route 12?” you propose, glad that the place had instantly come to mind. You scramble to do something with your hands, and you begin pouring him some Tapu Cocoa. “I don’t really think anyone hangs around there.”

              “That’s why it’s called ‘Secluded,’” Guzma says flatly. He seems unimpressed with your last statement, and you huff while sliding him the mug.

              With your hand still hooked around his drink, you protest, “H-hey! I’m just making sure that no one interrupts us like last time!”

              You do _not_ expect the response that you get.

              “‘Interrupts us’?” repeats Guzma suggestively as he reaches out to hold the mug, his warm fingers brushing over yours as he raises his eyebrows.

              You jerk your hand away from his, and in the process, nearly spill his Tapu Cocoa. He’s laughing again, and you’re almost a sputtering, incoherent mess. Why does he have to have a head that’s stuck in the gutters! With how startled you were, you’re astounded that you can even manage to snap, “I can’t _believe_ you!”

              The white-haired Trainer just continues laughing, and you leave him to get a kick out of your reaction while you retrieve a bag of Poké Beans and a neatly packaged Old Gateau.

              “Meet you there at five, then?” You attempt to make your tone even as you give him the two items. You quickly specify, “In the evening, I mean.”

              “M’kay. I ain’t much of a morning person,” Guzma agrees, taking them from you. He drops both into the large pockets of his jacket, and you’re curious if he ever tries the sweets, or if he gives them to his Pokémon.

              “Okay.”

              You nod and sit down, not quite across from him, but not too far from him either. You decide that your numbers are more interesting than him and neglect saying anything more.

              Guzma isn’t sure about you. He’d nearly thought you’d try to boot him out of the café for showing up the way he had, but you hadn’t. He’d also thought that you’d tell him to finish his Tapu Cocoa and then get out, but you hadn’t. He just isn’t sure about you.  

              Despite looking down at your charts, you aren’t thinking at all about the digits on them. You’re too preoccupied realizing that you’d had a somewhat decent conversation with Guzma.

              It’s definitely a start to dealing with him in a different way than you had as a young girl.

              And it’s a start to something you’re not quite sure about, for you’re sure it complicates what you’d originally felt for your annoying childhood rival.


End file.
